


Some Like It Hot

by MariaMediaOverThere



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Denial, Falling In Love, Humor, M/M, Passive-aggression, Phichit-centric, Slow Burn, a lot of synonyms for "spicy", a two-parter, at least i hope so, but also not really, everyone loves phichit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 14:06:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11991375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariaMediaOverThere/pseuds/MariaMediaOverThere
Summary: Phichit and Seung-Gil bond over their attempts to out-spicy each other.





	Some Like It Hot

_No spice, no flavor_.

 

Phichit declared it like one would declare a national anthem, which in this case, is one and the same. Despite the sniffling and wetness gathering in the corner of his eyes, he consumed the rest of his ultra-spicy noodles with a kind of reverence.

 

Honestly, it was a little grating.

 

Thai food does have a very rich, almost pungent kind of hotness, but what could compare to the sweetly savory spiciness of your typical Korean BBQ?

 

Nothing.

That’s what.

 

 

So Seung-Gil, although he hadn’t spoken a word that night, flagged down a waiter and asked them to take his order back and make it spicier.

 

Everyone around him, who was previously enraptured by how Phichit could possibly stomach the restaurant’s signature hellfire dish, turned their attention now to a new competitor.

The little Chinese boy cooed something under his breath about how adults are scary and Katsuki Yuuri had started to look worried.

 

 

It wasn’t anything about being immature, Seung-Gil rationalized internally, merely raising a brow at everyone’s reactions. He just honestly thinks his food didn’t have the kind of flare that would otherwise make it taste better.

 

And if he could stomach it down with no visible discomfort, unlike Phichit Chulanont, then that was just a simple observation.

 

The Thai used his sleeve to wipe the tears clinging to his lashes and threatening to spill. He gives Seung-Gil a look that seems to convey “ _You sure?_ ”, with a matching quirk of his red, swollen lips- wet with the scalding soup.

Seung-Gil sneers and digs into his noodles looking at his fellow skater directly in the eyes, once it arrives in front of him.

 

 

 

 

 

His stomach suffers for it the next morning, as he grinds his teeth down on some chalky chewable medicine.

This is why he should never hang out with people.

 

Katsuki Yuuri and he and are on friendly terms since the stint with Viktor and Friends months prior. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little amused regarding the crazy mishaps with #ViktorIsMissing.

Still, he’d have preferred if he hadn’t gotten sloshed and revealed his… drunk habits.

 

His lips still tingle from last night (Not from his inebriated kiss fits!). The thin skin of his mouth is sore, but he feels at least a little comfort with how well he hid his pain.

Katsuki had eyed him warily as he sipped on the tangy broth from the authentic Japanese restaurant he had invited his closest friends to. The silver medalist kept looking between his best friend and the Korean man.

If anything, he looked ashamed, probably guilty, since he was the one who urged Seung-Gil to come around, and had not expected this was the outcome.

 

Every time Phichit took a sip, Seung-Gil took a bigger sip.

 

 

It was some sort of conversation with eye twitches, shaking hands, slurping, and sharp exhales as a reaction to the absurdly pungent flavor.

 

 

It’s not like Seung-Gil to feel like he has to prove anything out of the ice; but something about how Phichit smacked his lips after his first bite, while his friends were both equally in awe and terrified, made his blood burn hot with competition.

Whatever. It wasn’t like he gained nor loss anything significant. If anything, at least he’s fulfilled his social interaction quote for the duration of his stay at this summit.

 

 

 

 

 

Still, somehow, he found himself at another restaurant with company.

 

 

Phichit had knocked on his door and given a curt but sweet thank you for spending the night prior with them. Seung-Gil grumbled under his breath in lieu of a response. It was too early in the morning to be so… pleasant. It wasn’t like it was a big thing either. He huffed a stale “You’re Welcome”, before moving to close the door in the Thai’s face.

 

“Oh, does your tummy hurt?”

 

“What?” Because what grown man could possibly say ‘tummy’ with such a straight face.

 

Phichit Chulanont points at his own mouth, and Seung-Gil realizes he’s still chewing on Tums.

Something shifts with Phichit’s eyes, because they turn a little darker and dangerous. “Oh I’m sorry about that. I hope it wasn’t too bad.” He beams, but instead of pitiful, it resonates with self-congratulation.

 

 

Seung-Gil feels is eye twitch.

 

Is he _assuming_ that the ramen last night was **_too spicy_** for him?

 

“I’m fine. This is… candy.” He lied. He had no reason to. Nothing relies of his ability to handle strong food, so it’s not a big deal.

 

He had no reason to say that, “…in fact, I think it wasn’t spicy enough”, but he did.

 

 

 

So that’s how he finds himself sitting across Phichit for a second time within 24 hours, only with Christophe sitting to Phichit’s left.

 

Giacometti pronounced it as _Sauce Diable_ \- Devil’s Sauce. Phichit jokes if it would remove the spiciness if he poured it on Angel Hair pasta.

Seung-Gil stamps down the smile that was trying to make itself known on his features.

 

However, something tells him that Phichit caught it regardless, considering how his eyes seamed to gleam as he looked between them and their matching broiled chicken dishes.

 

 

The devil should cut back on his preparations, considering how peppery his sauce is. While the Swiss skater only added dashes of flavor unto his plate, Phichit and Seung-Gil had all but drowned their meals with the relish.

Relish sans actual relish, actually, because how could you enjoy food when you can’t taste it past the heat in your mouth burning your tongue?

 

However, this time around, not a single tear graced Phichit’s beautifully lined eyes. He had been accommodating, and shared a few anecdotes about his life outside the rink in between bites, while Seung-Gil felt like dying.

His only consolation was that if he burned a hole through his stomach and died, he wouldn’t be around to watch Phichit smugly looking down on him over his grave.

 

Christophe asks if Seung-Gil is alright, and he responds with a tight-lipped nod, and he fears he might vomit if he opens his mouth. How can Chulanont talk so composed and charmingly over this??

 

 

He didn’t realize he was glaring at his plate until Phichit asked one of the staff if they serve milkshakes in fancy restaurants at 1 pm.

 

Apparently, they do, because a frothy cool pink beverage is presented before Seung-Gil. He raises a brow.

 

“Come on,” Phichit rolls his eyes, “You look like you might cry.”

 

There’s a teasing lilt in his voice that spurs Seung-Gil to drive his fork in his chicken further. Before he could move his hand, Phichit leans over and placed his hand on Seung-Gil’s wrist. He makes a noise of disapproval before his face turns soft and compassionate.

“I had sips of water while eating,” He confesses, almost like it’s a secret, by the way his voice is hushed, “The trick is not eating it all at once.”

 

And now it makes sense that Phichit is still orchestrating a conversation while he eats- _stalling._ Seung-Gil feels some weird mix of relief and victory, as well as irritation. So much for a clean fight.

 

However, the prickly sensation at the roof of his mouth keeps him from calling Phichit out on his sneakiness. It doesn’t feel like pity when the Thai pushes the milkshake over and holds the straw up for him like a child.

 

But if it isn’t pity, then Seung-Gil doesn’t know what it is.

Nonetheless, he suckles on the bendy straw like a thirsty man stranded in the desert for 4 days.

 

Phichit chuckles, seemingly endeared. The sound is magical, almost transcendent- although that might just be because the fire in his throat is finally being quenched down and everything just feels _good_.

He mumbles a quiet thank you that he thought Phichit didn’t hear until he felt the man playfully kick his leg underneath the table.

 

 

When he looks towards Giacometti, he has an unreadable expression on his face as he glanced between the two of them. It reminded Seung-Gil of Katsuki, but there was a smirk playing on Chris’ lips that he almost felt threatened by.

He pushed those paranoid thoughts back as he continues to nurse his digestive system with strawberry milkshake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He feels bad.

But “bad” is too broad of a term. He feels a little ashamed for having to be so… coddled. But he also feels ashamed for being ashamed, since Phichit had been so earnestly approachable and warm and he should just be grateful like a normal human being.

 

 

Yet, Seung-Gil realized long ago that he wasn’t your typical human being. Why should he be grateful anyway? It wasn’t like he asked Phichit for help. Still, his stomach was grateful even if he himself wasn’t. The taste of strawberries overpowered whatever harsh tang would have been otherwise left on his tongue.

 

He’s being dumb. He should just say thank you.

 

 

 

 

 

How he somehow ended up seated in front of Phichit for a third time in 24 hours is an enigma unto itself.

 

The tiny, tiny man was rested on a railing at the veranda of the second floor. He had his phone in his hands and his tongue between his teeth and he readied to take an artfully composed scenic shot of the view.

Of course, he never got to take it since Seung-Gil cleared his throat a little too loud and Phichit almost dropped his phone over the height.

 

After the initial panic, Seung-Gil found himself with a hand wrapped gingerly around Phichit’s neck, berating him for being so clumsy.

Look at him, being _amicable_.

 

With no grace whatsoever and a little pink highlighting his cheeks, he extracted his arm away and apologized for giving him a fright, and expressed brusque acknowledgement for Phichit’s efforts to include him in things and talk to him- if not at him.

Phichit snorted at that. Eye roll. But again, no hard feelings were behind it.

 

Maybe Phichit has a thing about robots, because it’s becoming more and more definite that he’s endeared.

 

It’s a little intimidating- like he’s expected to do something about it.

Which, by the way, he has no obligation to reciprocate the energies expended to become the other’s companion.

 

 

Yet when the night carries them to a cheap bar together, Seung-Gil isn’t quite sure he believe that himself.

 

Phichit likes his alcohol sweet.

He hadn’t said that out loud, but it was painfully obvious as Seung-Gil took inventory of all the fruity drinks that find their way to their table, per Phichit’s request. They had simple Buffalo wings with celery that Seung-Gil hadn’t even dared to look at- as if simply looking at it would make him throw up.

 

But nothing gets by Phichit, with his observant eyes and outgoing demeanor. It started a conversation about Seung-Gil’s likes and dislikes, which became more and more passionate as time went forward, and as Phichit spurred him on with little teasing remarks or disbelieving looks.

 

He’s learned his lesson about heavy drinking, so Seung-Gil nurses one beer the entire evening. However, the urge to order something stronger- something just to show Phichit he can hold his own- it’s making his hands itch.

It’s normal for athletes to feel competitive right? Especially towards each other?

 

Although he refrains from drinking recklessly, he finds that he takes a gulp down whenever Phichit does too. Like a conversation told in swallows. It feels familiar.

 

 

Still, the way he’s talking fast, talking a lot- talking at all, it’s unlike him if sober.

But he feels compelled now; compelled to justify why pineapples don’t belong on pizza, and why dogs are the better pets, and whatever else he can think of to keep the tallies rolling on his opinions.

 

Too late, Seung-Gil realizes that he’s spearheading the conversation. His blood becomes a little bit colder.

 

 

 

They’re both adults and Phichit should be responsible for his own intake, but as the night gets longer, the glasses to their left continue to stack (as well as candid shots taken) and it’s honestly a little concerning.

 

Something about the way his… friend(?) slurs on his words when he orders a _Sex on the Beach_ is intoxicating as the drink itself.

His sips are unlike the sips he’d take from spicy broth- careful and slow, rather, they’re brazen and fast like he’s chasing after the taste.

 

The only time when he isn’t absolutely getting smashed was when he took the careful time to document all his orders on his phone, and make little comments about colors and gradients and execution and other things Seung-Gil found himself actually paying attention to.

 

It just sounded better when Phichit said it.

 

 

Seung-Gil can’t tear his eyes away when he watches Phichit tilt his head back and expose the lines of his neck as he tries to get everything down.

He looks to his beer bottle accusingly. It definitely had something to do with this.

 

 

“I had fun.” Phichit chirps as he tries to fish out his room key card from his wallet with shaking fingers.

Seung-Gil picked it up for him when he dropped it and found himself unable to stop from rolling his eyes. Certainly, Phichit is infecting him with something.

“Me too.” He said the truth. His chest buzzed with something- something he can’t name.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Was it wrong to say he was pleased to see Phichit so disheveled the morning after?

 

He had bags under his eyes and his hair was unkempt. One of the presenters was talking about something regarding sponsorship and the relationship of viewership and support, but Seung-Gil found himself just watching Phichit try not to fall asleep.

 

 

“It’s worth it, y’know.” Phichit mused, bleary-eyed, once the talk was through. Seung-Gil had no idea who he was talking to at first, until he realized Phichit was talking to him.

 

Did he know he was staring this entire time?

He felt his body grow hot.

 

“What is?”

 

Phichit made a small gesture to himself. Face front, it’s easy to see that although he looks like he hadn’t slept much, his tired posture made him look small and… almost adorable. His splayed out hair looked silly and undercut whatever grit he was trying to come across with. “I look like trash, but that’s okay- I saw you smile last night and it’s worth it.”

 

 

Seung-Gil is waiting for the punch line- but it doesn’t come. Phichit’s just looking at him with a soft smile of his own. He remembers being more… relaxed than usual last night, but had it really shown on his face that he enjoyed?

 

It didn’t feel right to let the conversation end there. He huffed, trying to regain any cool points he may have lost the previous night. He doesn’t care about reputation, but for some reason, he feels protective of his aloof persona at that moment in time.

“I don’t remember trash looking so c-“ Seung-Gil’s eyes narrowed.

 

He was about to say _cute_. He was about to make a sardonic remark, but instead was about to _compliment_ \- no, **_flirt_**.

 

 

 

 

He hears Phichit calling after him as he immediately stands up to leave, but he pretends not to care.

 

 

 

No more. No more socializing. He’s had enough.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seung-Gil is a goddamn liar, he tells himself as he’s seated in some sort of Indian restaurant.

 

The décor and atmosphere is buzzing with intricate details and illustrious, cultural imagery that has Phichit looking at his phone screen more than Seung-Gil.

But it’s not like Seung-Gil cares…

 

 

The _Murgh Kari_ is a slow burn kind of thing- literally and figuratively. Or maybe it’s just the way he’s fixated on Phichit’s eyes never leaving his phone that he hasn’t taken note of the literally punch to the face the flavor is.

 

Annoyance is not something he’s unfamiliar with. In fact, he feels it every day.

 

In fact, he felt it just a while ago as JJ raised his eyebrows at him when he saw the pair walk out of the hotel and call a cab together.

 

 

It’s just that he doesn’t know why. He should be happy he’s not under any scrutiny and he can enjoy his food in peace.

 

“Hey.” It’s out before he even thinks about it, “Pay attention to your food.”

 

 

Phichit looks immediately embarrassed, face going red, as he pockets his phone. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I was texting someone.”

 

Seung-Gil raises a brow, but gets no response as Phichit finally takes a bite from his plate. Now he’s a little more annoyed.

 

“Who were you texting?” He intended it to come out level, but he felt he sounded a little menacing if Phichit’s face is anything to go by. He has a piece of chicken hanging out of his mouth, and it constitutes as bad table manners but for some reason, it makes Phichit looks like a puppy.

 

 

 

Seung-Gil wants to punch himself in the face.

 

 

 

 

Phichit chews slowly- _too slowly­_ , like he’s… stalling. “Christophe.”

 

“Why?”

 

Phichit shrugs, and his eyes dart between his plate and his the outline his phone is making in his slim pants. “Nothing important.”

 

But by the way the redness in his face hasn’t wavered, Seung-Gil thinks the opposite, but is afraid if he continues down this path he’ll only get more annoyed at Phichit and himself.

 

This get-together was spent in relative, terse silence, which honestly disappoint Seung-Gil a bit.

 

 

It wasn’t all for naught, at least. Phichit would shiver when he swallowed too fast. He’d start fanning at his open mouth, tongue out and frantically reaching for some water that Seung-Gil nudged farther from him every time.

There was something about the lock of disbelief and mock-betrayal on the Thai’s face that made Seung-Gil feel contented in himself.

 

He was being… playful.

 

That’s fucking terrifying.

He decides not to think about it.

 

 

Just like he decides not to think about how much longer he can keep up this friendship of sorts.

 

The summit only lasts for one more day, and he’s afraid to say he’s saddened by the notion of parting with Phichit- if only because he has no one to share his love of spicy food with.

 

 

…But Seung-Gil knows that’s not completely true.

 

They end their early lunch with Seung-Gil blurting out a half-assed attempt for another meet-up, and the word “date” tumbles out of his mouth and into the open air before he could stop it.

 

He backtracks, and instead of the usual mischievous banter that Phichit sported, he’s just searching his eyes for something.

 

He says yes though and gives a small wave as they part ways- he’s promised to go sight-seeing with Leo and Guang-Hong and Seung-Gil is going to crawl under his sheets and scream or something.

 

 

Tomorrow.

 

Tomorrow, he’ll do something about… this. Whatever “this” is.


End file.
